stion
after crawling through the hole. Both wore service coats, with holsters
at their sides.

The man against the snow-wall was making an effort to rise. He sagged
back, and grinned up apologetically at McKay.

"Dam' fine of you, old man," he mumbled between blistered lips. "I'm
Porter--'N' Division--taking Superintendent Tavish to Fort
Churchill--Tavish and his daughter. Made a hell of a mess of it,
haven't I?"

He struggled to his knees.

"There's brandy in our kit. It might help--over there," and he nodded
toward the girl and the gray-bearded man on the blankets.

CHAPTER XIV

Jolly Roger did not answer, but crawled through the hole and found the
sledge in the outer darkness. He heard Peter coming after him, and he
saw Porter's bloodless face in the illumination of the alcohol lamp,
where he waited to help him with the dunnage. In those seconds he
fought to get a grip on himself. A quarter of an hour ago he had
laughed at the thought of the law. Never had it seemed to be so far
away from him, and never had he been more utterly isolated from the
world. His mind was still a bit dazed by the thing that had happened.
The police had not trailed him. They had not ferreted him out, nor had
they stumbled upon him by accident. It was he who had gone out into the
night and deliberately dragged them in! Of all the trickery fate had
played upon him this was the least to be expected.

His mind began to work more swiftly as in darkness he cut the _babiche_
cordage that bound the patrol dunnage to the sledge. "N" Division, he
told himself, was away over in the Athabasca country. He had never
heard of Porter, nor of Superintendent Tavish, and inasmuch as the
outfit was evidently a special escort to Fort Churchill it was very
likely that Porter and his companions would not be thinking of outlaws,
and especially of Jolly Roger McKay. This was his one chance. To
attempt an escape through the blizzard was not only a desperate hazard.
It was death.

There were only two packs on the sledge, and these he passed through
the hole to Porter. A few moments later he was holding a flask of
liquor to the lips of the gray-bearded man, while the girl looked at
him with eyes that were widening as the snow-sting left them. Tavish
gulped, and his mittened hand closed on the girl's arm.

"I'm all right, Jo," he mumbled. "All right--"

His eyes met McKay's, and then took in the snow walls of the dug-out.
They were deep, piercing e